


Lead Us Not Into Temptation

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pre-Series, Sam is 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:06:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is nothing but temptation. And Dean is weak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam is 14, Dean is 17.

It’s late when Dean makes his way back inside the motel room. He may be a bit drunk. And he’s definitely more than a bit horny. Sam’s asleep in the middle of the bed they’ve been sharing. Dean doesn’t really want to sleep in his dad’s bed, even though he’s gone for a few days that will probably become a week. He quietly pulls off his boots and jeans, and sits on the foot of the bed and flicks on the TV. He skips through the channels to the pay per view porn and picks one that sounds promising. It’s not like his dad examines the bill when they check out.

He comes into the movie already in progress and is greeted with a close up a woman’s mouth sliding up and down some guys dick. it reminds Dean of exactly what he didn’t get tonight. Not that he can blame the girl he was with, the parking lot of a motel isn’t exactly romantic. But Dean has one rule, he never leaves Sam alone at night, no matter how many times Sam may argue that fourteen is old enough to not need a babysitter. Once when they had been arguing about it for about twenty minutes, Sam pointed out that Dean was babysitting Sam alone for days when he was fourteen. Dean had shouted, 'Yeah, that’s how I know it’s too damn young!' Sam’s eyes had gotten wide. It was closest Dean had ever come to admitting that maybe their Dad’s parenting left a bit to be desired. But to Dean’s surprise, Sam had let it go, and had actually stopped fighting Dean on that and a lot of other things. 

The chick in the movie gives an extra-loud, extra fake sounding moan, and Sam stirs. “Dean?” 

Dean quickly lowers the sound. “Yeah, Sammy, it’s me.” He slides up the bed to rest against the wall. Sammy’s hair is sticking up in twelve different places, so Dean reaches out to smooth it down. “Nice cat-like reflexes you got there. I came in a few minutes ago.”

Sam burrows into him without opening his eyes. “I knew it was you because I didn’t wake up,” he murmurs.

Dean chuckles at the sleep logic, but he knows what Sam means. Dean lifts his arm and lets Sam snuggle into him, head on Dean’s hip. Sam’s all warm from the bed and smells like cheap soap and teenage boy and home, and Dean tries to will down his now-inappropriate erection.

It doesn’t work. Even though he’s turned the sound off, Dean can still see what’s happening on the screen. Judging by the looks they’re exchanging, the bored housewife is about to ask her maid for some help a little more personal than dusting. He watches, one hand pressed almost unthinkingly against his erection, while Sam’s breath trickles warm against his side. His other hand slips through Sam’s hair and comes to rest on his neck. The tips of his fingers slip under the stretched out neckline of his t-shirt.

Sam makes a pleased hum and his arm tightens around Dean where it’s thrown across his thighs.

“Go to sleep, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “Its late.”

“Don’t wanna,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s side. His mouth accidentally brushes the skin on Dean’s hip. 

Dean shudders. In his current state, it feels a little too good. If Sam accidentally moves the smallest bit, he’s going to notice that Dean’s hard dick is about a millimeter from his arm.

Not that it would be the first time they’ve accidentally felt each other up. It’s impossible to share a bed and not wake up occasionally feeling the other person’s morning wood. It didn’t mean anything. Usually they just shoved the other one off. Most of the time. And that one time last week Sam hadn’t shoved Dean away? Just a fluke. Dean’s not sure Sam had even been awake, but he’d been draped over Dean like some sort of mutant human blanket crossed with an octopus. Dean had woken up just at the wrong/right point of a really, really good dream, Sam weighing on him on all the right/wrong ways and Dean was barely awake himself. And, well, it just happened. Sam didn’t seem to notice, just rolled away with a sigh when Dean slid out of bed after he’d gotten his breath back.

Which is what Dean is going to do right now. 

He reaches down to lift Sam’s arm off his thighs so he can jump in the shower and take care of his dick and get some sleep. But Sam’s fingers dig into his hip and he feels Sam’s mouth on the skin right above the waistband of his boxers. His lips are warm and wet as his mouth opens on Dean’s body and this time there is nothing accidental about it at all.

 _Fuck_ and _Sam_ and _no_ and _god_ all crash together in Dean’s head. None of it makes its way out of his mouth because he can’t seem to get any air into his lungs. _You need air to speak_ , he thinks inanely, desperately.

He yanks his body away from Sam, almost falling off the bed sideways.

Sam just pulls him back, a hand on his hip, his arm dragging across Dean’s traitorous dick, which has only gotten harder in the endless moments since Sam put his mouth on Dean. 

“Dean,” Sam says, dark eyes glittering up at his brother. He keeps eye contact with Dean as he moves his hand deliberately to the front of Dean’s boxers.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean breathes out as Sam’s hand lands warm and solid on his dick. “What the fuck?”

Sam shifts closer, twining their legs together. Dean can feel Sam’s erection pressing against the side of his shin. He breaks eye contact with Dean (but doesn’t move his fucking hand, no) and looks back at the television.

Dean is helpless to stop his eyes from following the movement of Sam’s head. Just like he can’t seem to stop the shudders running through his body and the small jerking of his hips.

On the screen, the housewife has her face buried in between the maid’s legs while some guy from god knows where pounds into her from behind. The maid’s head is thrown back, dark hair trailing on the ground, while she pinches her own nipples.

Sam’s soft hand worms its way into the opening of Dean’s underwear. and wraps around Dean’s dick.

The sound that rips from Dean’s throat is somewhere between a curse and Sam’s name.

He tries to get the _stop_ past his lips, but Sam just grips harder and starts jerking Dean like he’s done it a million times before. Dean’s been hard since he slipped into the backseat with the teenaged daughter of the hotel manager, and even with the sound off he can hear the moans of the people on the screen. Sam’s driving his hips into Dean’s legs desperately, and when Dean looks down, Sam’s staring at his hand on Dean’s dick, tongue between his teeth like it is when he’s concentrating on learning something new, and Dean is fucking _gone_.

“Sammy!” he yells, head slamming back into the headboard and his hand clamping down on Sam’s shoulders. He comes all over Sam’s hand, shooting up onto his stomach and chest.

He’s struggling to get his breath back when he realizes Sam is panting and pulling Dean’s leg over and over again up against his rock hard and impressively large cock. He tangles his hands into Sam’s too-long hair and yanks his head up so Sam has to look at him.

“You gonna come on me, little brother?” he growls.

Sam’s eyes grow almost comically wide and his mouth drops open with a gasp, and then he’s shuddering and twisting under Dean’s hands. Dean feels the wet warmth spreading through Sam’s pajama pants onto his shin, and then they’re both panting and Dean’s fingers are still gripping Sam’s hair.

He forces himself to let the silky strands slip away, and he pats Sam’s head awkwardly.

Sam’s face is pressed into Dean’s hips again in a echo of his earlier position, but now Dean can feel the heat coming off Sam’s bright red face. Whatever half-asleep hormone-fueled bravery had let Sam think jerking off his brother was a good idea had shot itself out Sam’s dick and now he was just a embarrassed kid.

And Dean is just his fucked up older brother. He knows he's fucked up, because all he can think about is how Sam’s face looked when he was coming. _Gorgeous._ Hotter than any girl Dean had ever been with. And Dean wants to see it again. Wants to see what Sam would look like if Dean put his hand on Sam’s dick. Or put his mouth it. _Jesus fuck,_ Dean is messed up in a whole new way. A way he hadn’t even contemplated. And he’d contemplated a lot.

He feels Sam’s chest rise and fall under his hand, and knows, from long years experience, that Sam is near tears. He needs Dean to fix it, to fix this, to make sure they are okay.

Dean can do that. He will do it. He always does. “Sam. Sammy. It’s okay. Breathe.”

Sam breathes. A shaky inhale that's closer to a sob then Dean can deal with right now. He thumps Sam’s back roughly. “Go get cleaned up. I’ve got clean pants in my duffle. You can wear them.”

He does’t like the way Sam slinks out of bed like a kicked dog without making eye contact, but he’s pretty much reached his limit of what he's capable of giving right now. He throws an arm over his eyes as he listens to Sam dig for clean pants. He waits until he hears the shower start before sitting up and looking for something to clean himself off with. When he reaches down to wipe his legs off, the feel of Sam’s come on his skin almost has him hard again. 

With a soft curse, he throws the dirty t-shirt across the room and slides down onto the bed. _Fucking fuck,_ he thinks. What is this fucked up life they're living doing to them?

Sam takes long enough in the bathroom that Dean can get away with faking sleep by the time he slips back into bed and under the covers. Dean lays on his side, facing out into the room. 

When he feels Sam hesitate, then, with a deep inhale, slide closer to Dean until he can spoon up against Dean’s back, Dean curses himself for an idiot for not getting into the other bed. 

When he feels Sam’s lips touch the back of his neck, and when instead of leaping up or yelling or even pushing him away, he just reaches back for Sam’s arm and pulls it up over his waist, he curses himself for a damned soul.

When Sam’s hand slips up under his shirt and comes to rest on Dean’s heart, Dean prays his father will come home soon to deliver him from this temptation. 

When Sam's hand slides down his body to slip under the waistband of his boxers, Dean gives up thinking and lets Sam do whatever he wants.

Sleep is a long time coming for both of them that night.


	2. But Deliver Us From Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another normal Saturday morning.

The next morning, Sam is turned away from him, still asleep. The pants he borrowed from Dean are too big, and they’ve slid down from all the tossing and turning. His shirt is pushed up his body, and the swath of skin that shows between his bottom rib and the top of his hipbone looks soft and warm. Dean’s hand would fill that space easily. He could slide his fingers around Sam’s hip. Push those loose pants down over the curve of Sam’s ass.

He doesn’t give the thought time to finish before he’s out of bed and into the bathroom. The laminate edges of the sink counter bite into his palms as he bends over the sink, and tries to get his breathing under control. When he can breathe without panting and his dick has gone down, he brushes his teeth, pees, and debates taking a shower. Food first or shower? Which has the least chance of waking Sam up?

“Dean?” Sam knocks on the bathroom door.

“Fuck.” He hadn’t even heard Sam walk over. “Yeah, who else, Nimrod?”

“Hurry up, I gotta pee.”

“Fine, yeah.” He looks at himself in the mirror. Pale, but okay. No visible erections. Good.

He pulls open the door and Sam is standing right there, arms braced on either side of the door frame. His head comes up to Dean’s chin, but his hands are long and he’s been eating enough for three people lately. Dean just knows he’s going to start shooting up any minute. “Jesus. Give a guy some space.” 

Sam lifts one arm off the door frame and turns sideways just enough to let Dean squeeze through. 

Maybe it takes Dean a fraction of a second longer to pass than it should, maybe he brushes against Sam a fraction harder than is absolutely necessary. Maybe. 

Sam shuts the door behind him, and Dean paces nervously around the room. He runs a hand through his short hair and stops in front of the tiny fridge tucked in under the combo sink, stove, and countertop. He pulls out eggs and the last of the cheese, then digs through the cupboard for the potatoes. He’s not going to think about anything. He’s just going to make some breakfast. They can watch TV, maybe take a walk into town, catch a showing at the dollar theater. Check out that old house on the edge of town Sam said the kids at school were talking about it. Could be something, could be nothing. Can’t hurt to look. Just a normal Saturday. He can do this. Maybe Sam won’t say anything, just let it stay locked up with all the other Things They Don’t Talk About.

And maybe John will give up hunting and settle down as an accountant somewhere. 

Dean hears the bathroom door click open and his shoulders tense as he tries and fails not to think of Sam’s hands on him last night.

Sam walks over to him, the soft shuffle of bare feet on greasy carpet loud in the room. Dean’s fingers tighten on the counter edge. He feels the rusty chrome bite into his palm, and he lets go.

He just lets go.

Dean Winchester wasn’t raised to back down from scary things. Dean Winchester has been facing scary with a gun since he was six years old. Dean Winchester has got to stop thinking of himself in the third person.

He turns around and faces Sam. When he sees his brother, all long legs and too long hair, the faint crease between his eyebrows and the hesitant smile on his face, he just opens his arms. “Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam practically runs the rest of the way into Dean’s arms. Dean pulls him in, tucking Sam’s head under his chin, where he belongs. He can feel Sam’s thin t-shirt sticking to the damp patches on his back.

“You’re not mad?” Sam asks.

He thinks Sam can feel the eyeroll. That was never even on the table. “Not mad,” he says. He can feel Sam’s heart thumping against his chest, feel his hipbones pressing into Dean’s. The kid is way too skinny. “You hungry? You want breakfast?”

Sammy shakes his head against Dean’s chest, but his stomach rumbles loud enough for Dean to hear. 

He laughs and pushes Sam away from him, hands still on his shoulder. “Liar. You don’t even know what you want.”

Sam looks up at that, changeable eyes dark and unreadable. “I know exactly what I want,” he says, eyes darting down to Dean’s lips and back up again.

Dean’s fingers curl around Sam’s shoulders, not pulling him in, not pushing away. “Yeah, Sammy? What do you want?”

Sam closes his eyes and exhales deeply. “So many things.” His eyes open, bore into Dean’s. “Everything, Dean. I want everything.”

For a second, Dean can swear he feels Sam’s want pouring off of him in waves. It's bigger than anything Dean’s ever felt, bigger than anything he can imagine wanting. And he know somehow, right then, that Sam wanting him like this is just a small part of a much bigger, desperate need. The realization that he could (and will, he knows that) give Sam everything he has and it still won’t be enough, terrifies him.

His silence goes on a few heartbeats too long. Sam looks worried. “Dean?”

Dean slides his fingers up into Sam’s hair and tugs gently. “You know I’ll give you anything and everything I can, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam leans back against Dean, twists his hips in a way to force himself between Dean’s legs. Dean does not want to know where he learned that. Sam slides his hands around Dean’s back. “Even this?” he asks, looking up at Dean.

“Even this.” Dean tips his head down, and Sam surges up to meet him. 

It’s supposed to be sweet. Sweet and easy. Almost a peck, to soothe a worried Sam.

It isn’t. Sam’s hand spread against the back of Dean’s head, pulling him down. His mouth opens under the slightest pressure of Dean’s lips. Dean moans at the touch of Sam’s tongue. Sam wraps one leg around Dean’s, trying to get closer, and Dean slides his hands down Sam’s back, grabs him right below his ass and hauls him up. Sam locks his legs around Dean’s hips and sucks the air right out of Dean’s lungs.

Dean flips them around and drops Sam down on the counter. Winding one hand into Sam’s fucking ridiculous silky hair, he yanks Sam’s mouth of off his. He misses it immediately. “Christ, Sam, where’d you learn to kiss like that?”

Sam strains against Dean’s hold, lips red and swollen. When he whines and bites down on them, Dean gives in drags Sam back towards him. Sam pushes his tongue back into Dean’s mouth, and Dean captures it, sucking hard on it, flicking his tongue against the tip, as he pulls Sam more tightly against him. 

Sam hands clutch desperately at Dean, searching for a place to rest. They claw at his shoulders, at his biceps, the dig into his hips. Sam is whining steadily now, wriggling against Dean until Dean’s afraid he’s going to fall right off the counter. He thinks Sam is trying to say something, thinks he hears a whined _Dean_ , so he reluctantly pulls off. 

As soon as he pulls away, Sam rips Dean’s shirt off over his head so fast, Dean’s going to have friction burns. With one hand, he pushes the waist of his sweatpants down, freeing his rock hard dick. With the other hand, he grabs Dean’s shoulder and pulls him back in. “God, don’t stop,” he begs.

The feel of his little brother’s hard cock pressed against his stomach rips a groan from Dean. He pushes Sam’s head up, so he can get his mouth on that long column of neck. He latches on to the smooth skin, sucking and nipping at it. Sam drops curses and prayers into Dean’s ear as he ruts against his stomach.

When Dean feels Sam tense and his breath catch in a sweet little inhale, he bites down on the tender skin right above Sam’s collarbone. Sam’s fingernails dig into the skin of Dean’s shoulders as he curls into himself and comes silently all over Dean’s stomach and chest.

He’s trembling under Dean’s hands as he pulses hot against him. Sam gulps in air as he shudders to completion. “Fuck,” Dean whispers reverently. “Fuck, Sammy.” He’s hard as a rock and he can feel Sam’s come slipping down his body. He thinks vaguely that he should be grossed out, but it’s the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

Sam laughs weakly as he rolls his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. “Damn.” He turns his head into Dean’s neck and drags his tongue up and down the skin there. Dean shudders. Sam laughs again, stronger this time, and slides his hands down into the front of Dean’s jeans.

Dean can’t help the way his stomach contracts, the concavity making it easier for Sam to slide in. Sam’s hand wraps around Dean's dick the best he can at the awkward angle. Dean’s breath whooshes out of him. “Sam, you - fuck - you don’t have - god - have to.”

“Shut up,” Sam orders, pushing at Dean with his free hand. Dean takes a faltering step back, and Sam slithers off the counter. He pulls his hand off Dean’s dick, dragging it out of his jeans. He slides his fingers through the come still sliding down Dean’s skin. All Dean can do is stand there and fight to breathe.

Then Sam sinks to his knees, hands on Dean’s hips, and Dean loses the fight.

Sam doesn’t look up as he tries to undo the button, his fingers trembling.

Dean drags some oxygen into his lungs and places his hands over Sam’s. “Sammy.”

Sam stops, but doesn’t look up. 

Dean reaches down and pulls Sam up to him. “Hey, you _really_ don’t have to.”

“I know. But I ... and you’re,” he presses his hand against the bulge in Dean jeans. “And I really want to. I just...I never...”

“I would fucking hope not,” Dean says, and he kisses Sam again before he can take that the wrong way. Dean backs them up against the counter. He drags Sam’s leg between his and rocks against it. “Just this,” he says, in between kisses.

Sam kisses like a wildfire, hot and out of control, and Dean’s been hard for what feels like forever. The slight pain of his dick pressing against the metal zipper meld with the pain from Sam’s nails digging into his back, and it’s not going to take long. He rolls his hips up and down, dry humping Sam’s bony hip like he’s fourteen again. 

It’s his turn to whine when Sam’s pulls off his mouth, but it turns into a moan as Sam’s mouth finds the soft skin at the hinge of Dean’s jaw. He sucks the skin between his teeth and nips at it gently.

“Fuck. You, _ah_ , always were a quick, _shit_ , learner.” Dean turns his head, trying to recapture Sam’s mouth, but Sam just slides away with a giggle. That really shouldn’t be hot, but Dean’s dick throbs at the sound.

“Yeah,” Sam says, flicking open Dean’s jeans with hands that don’t tremble the tiniest bit. “I’m a fucking genius.” He slides the zipper down and frees Dean’s cock. Gathering up the come from Dean’s stomach and slicking up more with the clear fluid pulsing from the top of Dean’s dick, he tightens his grip and slides his hand down Dean’s dick. Four hard pumps and one _Jesus, Dean, you’re so fucking hot_ later and Dean shoots his brains out his dick and all over his little brother’s hand.

He leans heavily on Sam’s shoulders. Sam pushes at him ineffectually. “Get off, I can’t hold you up.”

“You calling me fat?” Dean asks.

“Yeah I am,” Sam answers.

Dean hooks a foot around his ankle and pulls Sam down on top of him as he collapses down onto the floor. He _oofs_ as Sam lands on him.

They lay there, trading kisses and holding back things they both feel need to be said at some point, until Sam’s stomach gurgles again. Dean’s answers it, and they both laugh.

“We should eat,” Dean points out.

Sam nods absently, running his fingers over Dean’s nipple just to watch it hardened. “Um hm. And then I was thinking we could check out that house the kids at school were talking about.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shivering under Sam’s hands and eyes. “Good plan.”

Sam pushes up on one elbow. “And when we come back, I’ll show you some other things I’ve learned from all that pay-per-view porn you watch when you think I’m asleep.”

Dean nods. It’s all he can do. He’s not sure what pandora’s box they’ve opened, but there’s no going back now. He pushes out the ugly words trying to form in his brain, and gives Sam the best smile he can. “Perv,” he jokes “I’m not that kind of a girl.”

Sam pushes up and hold his hand out for Dean to take. “Yeah you are,” he says, smiling down at Dean.

 _Yeah, I am,_ Dean thinks. He stands up and walks over to the stove to make some eggs. 

Just another normal Saturday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-proofread because it's almost 2am but I couldn't sleep until it was done. I'll fix it tomorrow.


End file.
